Hoarders
by shootingstella
Summary: "I was serious before though, I need to stop being so attached to stuff. We both do. Stuff doesn't last."


Pinky and the Brain made their first appearance on The Animaniacs in 1993. So don't yell at me.

I don't even know how I feel about this story. But it happened in about an hour.

* * *

"What do you have?"

His heart stopped when he heard her voice.

What did she mean, 'what did he have?' He had apologies; but she didn't want those.

He had a broken heart but she already knew that.

He had always expected their first conversation to be more dramatic and meaningful but confusion was interrupting his ideal scenario.

"What do you mean?"

She sighed and walked past him, towards the crumbling brick wall in the back of the basement.

He followed after her, hands in his pockets, anxiety written across his face. This reminded him of the way he felt as a kid when Constance would raid his room looking for candy or dead animals or Play Boys or drugs or guns; depending on his age.

She tossed his clothing away, and kept rummaging.

His heart was in his throat.

What was she looking for?

"Aha!" she yelled out when he hands closed around a little baggie.

She yanked it out of the wall with a shit eating grin.

"I knew you had to have _something_ fun!"

The panic left his body in one big exhale; it almost felt like laughing.

She reached into the bag, pulled out two Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and tucked the bag back where it belonged.

Then she was reaching for him, not his skin, but her fingers closed around the warm knit of his sweater as she tugged him along and it was wonderful.

"Where should we eat them?"

He was dumbfounded, completely shocked, but he needed to get over his dry mouth because she wanted to be entertained. That's why she was here.

The boredom had gotten to be too much for her and now she was coming back to him. Even if it was only for a moment of amusement; he couldn't disappoint her.

"The roof!" he exclaimed and her eyes lit up at his enthusiasm.

They both appeared on the roof a second later, so in sync that his sweater was still clutched in her fingers.

It was a cool August night and the sun had just begun to go down.

"This is perfect," she said. It almost sounded like that sentiment included him; it almost sounded like she forgot how much she hated him. But he watched as her ecstatic grin, fade into a sad smile and he knew it wasn't quite perfect.

They laid down on the sharp angle of the roof, bracing their feet on the ancient rain gutters. Who cares if it wasn't safe? Falling would probably be just as exciting as candy.

The unfolding of the wrapper was a ceremony to Violet.

She smelled it before she ate it, for at least two minutes. Tate watched her as she sucked in so much chocolate aroma that she eventually became used to it.

He unwrapped his next, but not nearly as slow.

As she took the first nibble from around the edge, he popped the whole circle in his mouth.

"What are you doing!" she yelled, sitting up and almost falling. "It's gonna be over so quick."

"No ith not," Tate assured her without using his tongue. He opened his mouth and showed her that he wasn't using his teeth, just letting it melt on his tongue, and slur his speech.

She laughed a little as she laid back down. It was cute how she savored each bite of chocolate the same way he savored every drop of her.

"This is how I ate them when I was alive too," she said once she had dulled the pointed edge of the cup down with her nibbling.

He raised an eyebrow at her, as if to say 'really'?

"Mhmm, the other kids used to make fun of me. They said I ate like a bird."

"I like birds," but it sounded like 'ah lack bards' and she gaped at him for a minute before rolling over, clutching her stomach as real, actual, sincere belly laughter rolled through her.

"That's the best- just- best," she wheezed out while he started laughing too, slower calmer and more from surprise then amusement because he had made her laugh and holy fucking shit he felt fantastic.

* * *

Months had passed since she had come to him in the basement and sometimes he wished she never had. He had become accustomed to nothingness. It was his normal, but she had reminded him of the concept of boredom and now it was suffocating him. He could watch her sleep sometimes, that was never boring, but it wasn't quite as fulfilling as the snap shot of actual fun that he had experienced on the rooftop.

He stood outside her door for half an hour before he worked up the nerve to push it open. She was sitting on the bed, facing away from him but her head snapped around when he entered.

"Do you…. Have anything fun?" he asked, sounding pretty unsure of whether or not he should even be asking. Maybe he was only supposed to wait for her.

She turned away from him, her head bowed briefly and his gut wrenched up because what if he made her cry?

But she was waving him over without looking up so he shuffled closer.

When he peaked around her shoulder he scoffed at what he saw, "Are you sewing?"

"No I'm knitting. I'll teach you if you want."

He couldn't help feeling silly as he lowered himself onto her bed, his bed, their bed at one time, and waited for her lesson to begin.

He fingered the end of the scarf she was working on while she explained her motions; under, over, off. Then she started talking about pearls and he watched the way her lips moved more than anything.

She offered him the needles and he sat up straighter, wiping his hands on his jeans before taking them. She tried to talk him through the motions, but his fingers where clumsy and he dropped a stitch. She took the needles away from him to pick it up but then she handed them back.

"When did you learn to knit?" he asked, as he awkwardly began a new row.

"My grandma taught me when I was little. I used to throw hissy fits and stomp my feet because my hands were too small."

"I think my hands are too big," he interrupted with a smile as the needles clanked together unnecessarily.

She tried not to focus on his big hands and went back to her story. "She always told me to sit my caboose back down and dry my tears. She said I'd be happy I knew how to knit when I was old and had nothing better to do."

Tate smiled because of 'caboose'.

"I guess that's now huh?"

"Hmmm?" he hummed in question while he attempted to pick up a dropped stitch by himself.

"We're like old people, waiting to die, except we're young and we won't, so I knit and you should probably learn how to play shuffle board or Manchalla."

"I don't want to play shuffle board… here," he said handing the needles back to her, "You do a better job."

She smiled and nodded as she undid his two rows with one swift pull. He pouted and she shrugged.

"How much string do you have?" he asked as he shifted his weight so that he was closer to lying down but his head was still up.

"It's yarn and as much as I could carry."

"How did you pay for it?"

"I pick pocketed a few people in the mall."

"I do the same," he said excitedly. He told her a funny story about one guy who was asking for it because he kept talking to Tate at the bus stop and he couldn't stop wondering if it would be this way every day if they were still together.

His story reminded Violet of a story and so she went on a tangent as his head got closer and closer to the pillow.

God he was so comfortable. He refused to fall asleep, he wanted to hear every word she had to say and watch every facial expression she used to explain herself with her hands otherwise occupied.

But before he knew it his eyes were fluttering back open and it was dark inside the room and she was gone.

Tate rolled over feeling like an idiot for wasting a single second with her.

When he pushed himself up, he fell right back down, restricted by something around his neck.

He rolled over so he could reach for his throat and couldn't believe what he felt.

He held the ends of the scarf up to his face and took a deep breath because he was a creep and it smelled like everything about her.

* * *

"Tate?"

He tried to still his rocking chair with a firm foot, but his thigh started shaking with anticipation the moment he heard her voice. So as she dropped down the remaining basement steps, he decided that maybe standing would be better. He tried to lean his shoulder up against a wall, then his back. Just as he realized that he didn't know what to do with his hands and probably should have stayed seated she came around the corner so he started walking towards her.

Smooth.

"Hey," he said casually.

"Hey," she responded awkwardly, she had both her hands behind her back. "Tomorrow's Christmas," she informed him.

"Oh, already?"

She nodded, she wasn't looking at him anymore, she clearly found her shoes much more interesting all of a sudden. "I got you something…to do."

She thrust a hand and his gift forward, into his stomach; she was clearly uncomfortable.

He wrapped his hands around the large clumsy package; he knew the gift had at least one sharp edge because it was poking in between two of his ribs.

She brought her hands back behind her and waited; dwindling the toe of her shoe into the concrete. "You have to open it."

"It's not Christmas yet," he said, turning the parcel over and over in his hands. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten a present.

She huffed and rolled her eyes, "Just open it," she urged him.

He smirked at her impatience and tore away some of the plain paper wrapping.

His face quirked in surprise when he pulled out his brand new… Seashell.

Well, it was a big sea shell…

He looked at her with as much gratitude and as little confusion as he could muster but he did a shit job.

She huffed again, "Hold it up-… here," she wrestled with it in his hands and turned it around, picking it up and moving it towards his head.

As hard as he tried not to, he flinched and she snickered, before attaching the opening of the conch shell to his ear.

"You can hear the ocean," she said simply and his eyes opened up like doughnuts because he really fucking could.

"Violet," he whispered, unable to take his eyes off her or the shell off his ear, "You got me the beach?"

She nodded, crumpling under his gaze, "Yea, whatever… geeze," she spun around on her toe and flounced back towards the stairs, calling a final, "Merry Christmas,' as she went.

* * *

It was possibly one million degrees out as Violet hustled around her bedroom, well, not her bedroom anymore since Marcy was outside, slapping a sold sticker on the old for sale sign.

"Could these assholes have picked a hotter week to do this?" she mumbled to herself as wrestled a crow bar against the already creaky floor boards.

"It was 103 degrees the day you moved in," a voice said from the door way.

"How do you even remember-" her struggle with the floor board ended abruptly as it popped open and she fell over. "-that?" she finished with a huff once she had righted herself.

"You were wearing at least three layers of clothing, and I remember making a mental note that you were out of your mind."

"What?"

"Psychotropic drugs can make you really cold, so I figured you were on something, you know, for your crazies."

She scoffed at him but smiled a little.

"So what are you doing anyway?" he asked, gesturing to the mess around her.

"I'm hiding all my shit so the new people don't touch it."

"I'm sure they want your emergency stash of yarn and… is this a coloring book?" he asked as he poked through an open backpack.

"I find it relaxing!" she said defensively and he put his hands up in surrender immediately.

"You'll stop getting bored so easily, in time," he told her once she had gone back to hoarding her possessions away like a squirrel preparing for the winter.

"It's not boredom, it's just that sometimes, I get this urge to do things with my hands. My fingers get itchy and then I need to do something with them. Does that ever happen to you?"

"Yea but I just usually…" he trailed off because he wasn't sure what had made him start that sentence anyway.

"Jack off?" she asked.

"Well, yea."

"That's nice."

"You could…"

"I don't"

"I know."

"You're a creep."

"You knew."

She shrugged.

"I am why you don't…?"

"No, I don't like it."

"You're not doing it right."

"Are you gonna stand there like an idiot or are you gonna help me?" she was handing him the crowbar with a face that almost said please.

He took it and climbed down to her level, attacking the next floor board. It was harder than he expected it to be; she wasn't making so little progress because she was so little. It was actually hard work.

By the time he had two peeled up, he was sweating through his black T shirt.

He glanced over at her, completely distracted, sorting her possessions into different bags. By the time she looked back up at him, his shirt was hanging out of the back pocket of his jeans and he had the fourth board up.

"Do you think this is enough space?" he asked?

"One more," she choked out, diverting her eyes when he turned to looking at her.

_God the ceiling is so interesting. _

"As you wish," he said with an eye roll, crossing the room to an untouched section.

He was facing away from her and the way the muscles in his back looked when he braced to pull made her…. 'fingers itch'.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed as he threw the board to the side, "Look what I found!"

She rushed over to him and peered over his shoulder, at his shoulder, but then back over his shoulder and into the cavern under the floor.

The smell was unmistakable.

"How did you forget you had weed hidden?" Violet asked as she made a gab for the bag,

He clutched it against his chest and it wouldn't have surprised her if he growled.

She laughed at him and rolled her eyes, "When was the last time you smoked up?"

He looked like he was reaching into the back of his brain for the exact date, "Years," he eventually settled on.

"Do you think it's still good?"

"I don't think week goes bad. I can't believe I forgot about it," he mused.

"You must have found something new to play with," she said cheekily.

"Probably," he said.

He stood up and pocketed the drugs, "Call me if you need help nailing them back down, but they should just slide in."

"Wait!" she called after him, "You're not gonna share?"

"I'll save you some," he promised, "For next time your fingers get itchy."

* * *

"Come on loser, we've got pay-per-view to watch," she called into the basement, propelling him out of his chair and half way up the steps before he was able to compose himself.

She hadn't seen him but she undoubtedly heard the clatter, because she was rolling her eyes and smirking at him when he emerged from the stair well, acting like he didn't give a shit.

"Silver lining of inhabitants; they pay all the bills," she told him over her shoulder as she led him into the living room.

He smiled at her as he took a seat on the couch, all the way to one side; giving her plenty of space.

"Do you remember when you were little," she started as she flipped through the options on the screen, "When you were little and afraid that your house was haunted by ghosts."

Tate just gaped at her.

She took his silence for agreement, "Well would you have been as afraid of them if you knew they were just down stairs eating your kettle corn and ordering movies?"

"Violet, my house was always haunted, so I… um,"

"Huh," she said, taking in the full weight of what he was saying. His house was always haunted. "Well I still think there are a lot of scary bed time stories for nothing. I wouldn't be afraid of us."

He gave her a sideways glance.

"Well, I wouldn't be afraid of me... you're kind of a loose cannon... never mind, I didn't think this through. All I'm saying is this is not what you expect from ghosts."

He chuckled because she was rambling and she was also right.

She pressed select and then agreed to a fee on the screen.

"Won't the owners notice?"

"Nah, by the time the dream team gets done with them, the cable bill will be the least of their worries."

"What are we going to do tonight Vivien?"

"Same thing we do every night Ben," she answered with a laugh.

As the opening credits began to roll, she shifted to lay her head in his lap, scrunching her knees up to cradle the bowl of snacks.

His arm that had been draped around the back of the couch was begging to rest itself on her hip but she put a quick stop to that.

"We're not together you know."

"Oh? Then what are we?"

"We're bored," she replied simply.

"You also might be a hoarder," he informed her.

She propped herself up, "A what?"

"A hoarder; I saw a thing about it," he gestured towards the television.

"You watched TV without me?"

"Insulted?"

"Surprised. I can't believe you knew how to turn it on."

"I got high without you too."

She whacked him in the chest

"I had to make sure it was still good, it could have made you sick."

Her face softened for a second before she brought her smirk back. "What a gentleman," she scoffed, returning her head to his lap and pulling his arm down over her like a blanket. "Now shhh, the movie's starting."

* * *

Violet was laying spread eagle on the floor and Tate's limbs were spilling over the edges of a forgotten arm chair in the living room.

It was September and the latest family had left already; scared away in the middle of the night.

So Tate and Violet were getting blistered, not so much out of boredom but as a celebration because Vi could have her old room back and Tate could break shit whenever he felt like it.

"You break shit regardless of who's in the house."

"Fucking A," he assured her.

"But you said you were... you said... I forgot what you said."

He slumped lower into the chair to hide as he laughed at her.

"God what is that stench?" Ben's voice hollered from hallway, his footsteps were approaching quickly.

"Oh shit." Tate said, looking from side to side before disappearing.

When Ben investigated the living room, he found Violet, by herself, giggling on the floor.

"Are you high?"

"No I'm dead!" she exclaimed, "But also, I'm high." She giggled again and faded out, back up to her bedroom where she figured Tate would be waiting for her.

She spotted him sitting straight up on her bed, shrouded by her sheets. She grabbed two corners and threw the covers up, revealing his shocked face underneath.

"You're a dork," she said as she climbed into his little fort.

"They're worse than the living residents."

Violet nodded, "I wish we could scare them away."

"Who?" he asked, as he watched her poise like a stretching cat, before swooping down onto her stomach.

"My parents," she clarified for his soggy mind.

"Oh yea, Ben's a buzz kill," he said, turning onto his side so he could face her.

"If they moved out, I'd be bored much less often."

"Why's that?"

"Because I could kiss you and then I wouldn't be bored anymore."

"Oh," he said lamely "Well… I break shit anyway."

"What?"

He struggled with the fog in his mind. He had a clear cut flawless argument and his sober self would never forgive him if he blew it.

"Well I break shit no matter who lives here. So you can do the same."

"I don't want to break anything," she shrugged.

He groaned, "Noooooo Violet," as he rolled away from her onto his stomach. When his head popped back up to look at her again, his hair was all disheveled. "I just want you to kiss me."

"Oh…okay," she said, quickly moving her lips to meet his, catching them off guard and awkwardly open.

He was surging towards her in a second, wrapping his arms around her whole body because she was going to tell him to go away in a minute and he was taking what he could get.

She surprised him when she didn't pull away.

She surprised him even more when she straddled one his legs. She also gave him something to be incredibly grateful for because her legs happened to be wrapped around the side his dick was on and he hadn't felt anything so warm and wonderful pressed up against him in years. When she didn't break the kiss he decided to test his luck, sliding his lips to her jaw and then down to her neck. She craned her neck, regrettably out of reach for his lips, but hers were coming down on his clavicle, so he really had nothing to complain about. Her hips were moving up against him and she was grinding into him so hard he wondered if she was going to... no that would be ridiculous.

She was drawing slow circles over his skin with the point of her tongue and her nails were digging through his sweater and into his back. He noticed when her grinding became more erratic and when the circles on his shoulder turned into choppy little licks and pokes and then she was all teeth and whining against his chest as her legs clenched around him and maybe it hadn't been that ridiculous of a thing to wonder after all.

After her hips slowed down, she wiped her lips against his chest plate, before nuzzling her way deeper into his sweater.

"Vio-" he started but when he looked down at her she was already heavy in his arms and her jaw was slack. "Goodnight," he whispered.

* * *

"Aren't you going to 'unpack'?" he asked her from the doorway of her room.

When she woke up this morning she was wrapped tightly in Tate's arms and self loating, with the smell of stale weed overpowering both feelings. She got up to take a shower and by the time she was done, he had disappeared.

He only came back so soon because he was just so curious to see how she was going to handle the situation.

"No, not this time," she said with a shrug.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't really need any of that stuff, and it's not helping me... adapt."

"Adapt to what?"

"To being a ghost. Ghosts don't have stuff. I shouldn't be depending on all that crap to keep me entertained when I know it's just a temporary fix. I shouldn't be so attached."

"Why not? That's all we are sometimes; the things we're we're attached to."

She raised her eyebrows. "Well I should at least be more like the other ghosts. Keep my stuff in storage, like you do. Instead of scurrying to hide it every time some piece of fresh meat calls dibs on my room."

He gave her a little smirk. "But that is what I do."

"What do you mean?"

"Well a few years ago some piece of fresh meat called dibs on my room, soooo…"

"Oh my god! Me?"

"Well… yea."

"And you never unpacked?"

"I would have, but you broke up with me... so it would have been awkward."

"That doesn't matter though! You shouldn't have to keep your crap in the basement just because-" she disappeared and it cut her sentence short.

He figured she was down stairs already, pulling arm fulls of his stuff out of the wall.

Oh shit!

"Violet don't," he was behind her a second later but he was too late, she looked over her shoulder, smiling at him, reaching into his little cubby when…

The color drained out of her face as he rushed towards her.

She let his sweaters and his candy and his left Chuck Taylor fall to the floor, leaving only a sleeve of his rubber suit clutched in one hand.

"Violet I can-"

"You can what? You can explain?"

He tipped his head lamely to one side because he honestly wasn't sure if he could.

"Of course you can't. You're too fucking stupid."

He backed away as her fists squeezed dents into his latex.

"You are so stupid to keep this here. And after you got lucky the first time I rummaged around, you were too fucking stupid to move it."

He nodded dully because he had to admit he was an idiot.

"Why do you even have this? Never mind. Don't tell me. I'm stupid for asking."

Tate's head hung low between his shoulders, wincing now that the threat of tears was on her voice.

"But you are even stupider because she was pregnant anyway!"

She had sucked the tears back up and that bit didn't make any sense, "What?"

"She was pregnant anyway, and I was dead anyway, and they would have left. And if you hadn't done anything then they wouldn't be stuck here, and I wouldn't be so bored, and you wouldn't seem so stupid!"

She picked up an arm full of his clothing, dropping it to swipe at the tears that had finally won out, running down her face in hot little rivers.

She scooped his clothes back up off the floor, "You can't hang that in my closet!" she screamed at him before finally turning to leave, stomping up the stairs the old fashioned way.

* * *

He had let weeks go by without changing his clothes. She had them all and to be honest, he was afraid of her. He could have gone forever in what he had on now probably, he could have worn these jeans until they decomposed and fell off. He didn't sweat or anything so he wasn't dirty, but he was dusty as hell and he wanted his green sweater and she took all his clothes! So maybe he was a little angry too.

He waited until he knew the coast would be clear, she was downstairs watching her baby brother and he only needed two minutes.

When he opened her closet, he found his things hung up on the left side, with hers on the right. Everything was meticulously organized, his pants over bar hangers and his sweaters folded on the back shelf next to hers.

The fact that his possessions hadn't found their way into the middle of the street was enough to make him feel very well taken care of, but the way he could feel her effort in every fold was a little overwhelming.

He shook it off and grabbed his favorite sweater, before heading off to the shower.

He wasn't sure what made him come back. Was he hoping she would be there? Or was he hoping he could say he went but missed her. It didn't matter either way though because when he leaned into the doorway, she was there.

"You would have hated me anyway," he informed her, as she stood in front of the open closet.

"Probably, you're a little shit."

He conceded.

"But we would have had a lot more sex."

His ears perked up.

"I don't know if I can have sex with you again," she said with maybe a hint of sadness.

"Not even when you're really bored?"

"Don't be smart."

"I'm not smart, remember?"

She nodded, "Well then don't be cute."

Informing her of just how hard that would be for him, probably fell into the category of 'being cute' so he kept his mouth shut.

"I'm sorry about what happened, when we smoked."

"What happened when we smoked?" he asked, because he so desperately wanted to hear her put a label on it.

"I don't know, it's foggy, but we kissed, and I think I might have dry humped you and then maybe got off," she was rambling as she moved to sit on her bed. "I'm not sure."

"I am."

"Oh god," she buried her face in her hands

"It's okay, I didn't mind."

"I do. I don't want to be like that, not after..."

She slumped face first into the comforter.

"When did you unpack?"

"Last week. I hung your clothes up."

"I saw."

"If you have any other stuff, you can keep it here."

"Okay."

"You can sleep here too… if you want. Like in bed."

"Really?"

"Yea. I just don't want to deal with your morning wood pressed into my back, okay?"

"I'll cut it off."

"Oh my god no!"

"Alright, I'll leave it, geeze."

"I was serious before though, I need to stop being so attached to stuff. We both do. Stuff doesn't last."

"I'll last."

"I know."


End file.
